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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28416327">call me! on the line, darling</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithblood/pseuds/sithblood'>sithblood</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>ATEEZ (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Mutual Masturbation, No Homo, Phone Sex, Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Size Kink, i'm dedicating myself to personally filling the tags for every ateez rare pairing, just guys being dudes!, so here we have it, trying to practice writing smaller things, yeosang and mingi have phone sex this is so silly lol, you know... helping out ur buddy when he's stressed haha</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:07:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,280</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28416327</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithblood/pseuds/sithblood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Yeosang is finding the stresses of idol life more overwhelming than usual. Mingi offers to lend an ear.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kang Yeosang/Song Mingi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>call me! on the line, darling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>writing porn instead of working on my big fic, love that for me</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mingi first notices during one of their practices. He wouldn’t call himself a particularly perceptive person – neither would he call Yeosang a particularly easy read – but it’s obvious, as they break apart to sweat and drink and complain amongst themselves while their choreographers compare notes. At least to him.</p><p>“Hey, Yeosang!” he says, bouncing on the balls of his feet to keep his heart rate up so it doesn’t feel like death once they start dancing again, hoping his tone sounds light and conversational. The other man looks up, brow furrowed, from where he’s crouching against the floor-length mirror with his back to the glass. He’s sweating, blond hair tied back in a short ponytail now that it’s long enough, black sport top riding low and revealing on his collarbones.</p><p>“Hi, Mingi,” he replies, tipping backward to meet Mingi’s gaze. He returns the smile but it’s smaller, clipped somewhat at the edges, and doesn’t reach his eyes. Mingi chances a quick glance over the rest of Yeosang, sees the tension in the high, nervy set of his shoulders, the compulsive bouncing of his foot up and down, the deep twist of his brow, and frowns. “What’s up?”</p><p>“Nothing, just checking in with my favourite hyung,” Mingi says, even though they’re the same age and they barely use honorifics anymore. Yeosang laughs anyway, just for how dumb the joke is. “How’re you finding the new choreo?”</p><p>“It is what it is,” he shrugs, picking at a loose thread on his joggers. Mingi can tell that something’s clearly up but Yeosang would never willingly volunteer that himself, selfless to the point of absurdity. It would be easier to get a rock to talk about its feelings. “Hard, but it’s always hard.”</p><p>Mingi digs the toe of his shoe into the studio floor, unsure how to ask him if everything’s okay in a delicate, non-patronising way. “And you’re – coping alright?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Yeosang replies, eyes narrowing. “Why wouldn’t I be?”</p><p>“Oh, no reason,” Mingi says quickly, cringing at his apparent lack of tact. Yeosang is frowning properly now, teeth digging into his bottom lip so hard that Mingi’s half-sure he’ll draw blood. “Just thought you looked a bit… worried.”</p><p>“Right,” he sighs, fingers curling around his knees. “Worried.”</p><p>Mingi blinks down at him, confused. “Yeah – you looked like you were upset, or something, so I thought –”</p><p>“Look, Mingi,” Yeosang forces out, eyes hard, and oh, shit, Mingi thinks belatedly. Not good, turn back, abort. “If this is about my solo part then <em>please</em> just leave it, I know it’s not perfect yet but I’ll have it sorted in the next few sessions and –”</p><p>Fortunately, Mingi is saved from that disaster of a conversation by the sound of their choreographers calling them back to practice, bolting into position before he can make things any worse. Unfortunately, Yeosang now thinks that <em>Mingi</em> thinks he’s an incapable dancer and doesn’t deserve his solo in the choreography, which is patently untrue. He shoots Yeosang troubled glances throughout the rest of their practice, hoping to mouth some variation of <em>I’m sorry I didn’t mean to sound like a dick you just got the wrong idea</em>, but Yeosang steadfastly refuses to make eye contact for the remainder of the evening, slipping away before Mingi has a chance to catch him once they’re finished.</p><p>It continues as the days go by, both of them falling a little awkwardly back into the previous cadence of their friendship after Mingi explains that it was just a misunderstanding and he thinks Yeosang’s an amazing dancer, actually. He’s still stressed, though, and Mingi can see it even if nobody else can, not even Yeosang himself. It’s in the small things, like the way he falls silent when nobody else is around, drawing wordlessly into his own psyche until he’s spoken to, or the thin, slightly irate expression he’s been wearing lately that makes him look tired and strangely vulnerable. Mingi’s caught him staring off into space more than once now, leg bouncing and jaw working like there’s something heavy on his mind, and it gets to him, it really does, because Mingi cares about Yeosang, doesn’t want to see him suffer alone just because he’s a naturally private person. He’d say as much to Yeosang if he believed he could manage not to accidentally insult him again.</p><p>“Okay, bye everyone! Bye!”</p><p>They both smile and wave at the phone camera, expressions fixed until their manager gives them the thumbs up. Mingi sighs, running a hand through his hair as he rolls his shoulders, working out the nervous, adrenaline-fuelled tension brought on by a v-live. He hopes he didn’t say anything stupid. Beside him, Yeosang shifts as if to leave.</p><p>“Yeosang-ah,” Mingi says, mouth working quicker than his brain. Yeosang glances back at him, one knee resting against the chair seat, and Mingi is struck with the feeling that they’ve played this out before. He smiles, trying for nonchalant. “Going already?”</p><p>Yeosang hums, shrugging a shoulder. He had looked cheery on the live, but as soon as the broadcast cut out that familiar despondency had settled slowly over his features again. “I’ve got a schedule today, so.”</p><p>“I just feel like we haven’t caught up much lately,” Mingi cuts in, before he can come up with some excuse to leave. Yeosang shrugs a little snidely, as if to say yeah, not after you implied I’m a shit dancer, but Mingi perseveres. He’s a caring friend; he wants to help.</p><p>“Um – okay, what’s up?” Yeosang says, sliding obligingly back into the chair once he realises that Mingi’s committed himself to a conversation. In front of them, the staff members who’d been supervising their live are busy talking amongst themselves as they pack up, chatting about upcoming schedules and music shows and news of comebacks within the industry.</p><p>“Ah – I actually wanted to ask <em>you</em> that,” Mingi says, glancing over Yeosang’s face, at the tired pinch of his eyes. He wonders if he’s getting enough sleep.</p><p>“Okay,” Yeosang says slowly, lips pursing with confusion. “Uh, why?”</p><p>Mingi takes a deep breath, clenches his fists. Tactful, he reminds himself. “I’ve just been a bit – worried about you, lately. You haven’t looked yourself.”</p><p>Yeosang’s head jerks up, brows twisting incredulously. His fingers are fidgeting, Mingi notices, tapping a tuneless, compulsive rhythm onto the laminate table-top. “Oh? What do I look like, then?”</p><p>Mingi bites the inside of his cheek hard, fixing a smile determinedly to his face. “Nothing bad!” he says, in what he hopes are a diplomatic, reassuring tones. “Just – just a bit…”</p><p>“A bit what?” Yeosang presses.</p><p>“Uh – a bit… wound-up,” Mingi replies, stumbling over the words. Yeosang blinks hard, eyelashes fluttering, clearly not expecting that as an answer. Mingi cringes inwardly; maybe not the best choice of phrasing.</p><p>“Do I, Mingi.” It doesn’t sound like a question, the way Yeosang says it. Mingi tries for a grin.</p><p>“If you, uh – if something’s up, then I’m always around. If you need to get it off your chest.” It’s empathetic, it’s tactful; it’s his best shot. Media training hadn’t prepared him for conversations like <em>this</em>. Yeosang presses his eyes closed for a moment, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips, and it makes Mingi’s chest clench happily, seeing him like that.</p><p>“Okay, Mingi. Thanks.”</p><p>Emboldened, he presses enthusiastically on. “Yeah, just grab me for a chat whenever. Or call me, you’ve got my number. Y’know, if you need to de-stress, or… unwind, or whatever.”</p><p>Yeosang’s looking at him strangely, Mingi realises, something warm and unfamiliar in the curve of his expression that sends a phantom shiver down Mingi’s spine. He presses a single, thoughtful finger to his lips, the both of them blinking silently at each other, and then suddenly he’s getting to his feet with a little too much fervour, eyes fixed resolutely, almost bashfully, to the floor. It’s only when he’s halfway out the door that Mingi notices the faint blush creeping up from beneath the collar of his shirt, colouring his cheeks a soft, attractive pink. How weird.</p><p>“I’ll hold you to it, Mingi,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder with a smile. “If I need someone to talk me off the ledge.”</p><p>In the end, it’s Mingi who calls first.</p><p>He’s been rattling around his single room for the better part of the evening, playing back every conversation he’s had with Yeosang over the past few weeks and trying, to the best of his abilities, to elucidate the meanings of them. It’s like a television screening for one, hours of tape unspooling and re-rolling in his mind’s eye, filling in the blanks through context clues alone. Yeosang silent and worried; Yeosang fidgeting, unable to keep still; Yeosang blushing, shivering, embarrassed, responding to – something. Mingi? Outside pressures? He throws himself face-down onto his unmade bed, groaning softly into a pillow. Just call him, Mingi thinks a little glumly, unlocking his phone and scrolling through the contacts app until his thumb’s hovering over KANG YEOSANG in the directory. From the corner of the room, propped up against the brow of his desk, the digital display on his alarm clock rolls over to 23:00. Fuck it.</p><p>“It’s late,” Yeosang says by way of hello when he picks up. Mingi scowls at the ceiling.</p><p>“Figured you’d still be awake,” he bites back, but with no real feeling behind the words. Yeosang laughs down the line, his voice tinny and far-away.</p><p>“Telepathic, nice. What am I thinking about right now?”</p><p>Mingi adjusts himself against a pillow. “That’s why I’m calling, actually,” he says, voice steady. He can hear Yeosang breathing on the other end, faint and barely audible.</p><p>“Oh? What’s the occasion?”</p><p>“Nothing. Nothing – I just… I worry. About you.” The words come with difficulty – for all Mingi’s bravado, he’s not much better with sincerity. The line is silent for a moment.</p><p>“God, Mingi-yah. You sound like my mum.”</p><p>Mingi pinches the bridge of his nose so hard he can feel it in the back of his throat. “You don’t have to deal with all your shit alone, you know.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know,” Yeosang huffs, but it sounds like it doesn’t. It sounds like he really doesn’t. Mingi digs a balled fist spitefully into his bedsheets, clenching and unclenching.</p><p>“Just talk to me, dude. Fuck.”</p><p>Yeosang laughs. “About what?”</p><p>“About anything – practice, your solo part, your fucking…” Mingi pauses, but only for a moment. “This inferiority complex you have the size of the fucking moon, or whatever.”</p><p>Yeosang’s end goes quiet. He makes a noise that sounds like laughter, but Mingi can’t tell if he found it funny. “Wow. Should I start a timer? Therapist Mingi, here to solve all my chronic self-esteem issues. I’ll cut you a check.”</p><p>Mingi smiles in the darkness. “You couldn’t afford me anyway.”</p><p>For a while neither of them speak, breathing in companiable silence down the line. The alarm clock on his desk reads half past the hour in fluorescent red digits, and Mingi’s about to start his night-time skin care routine when Yeosang clears his throat.</p><p>“Did you ever think we’d, like, get this big?”</p><p>Mingi pauses, one foot out the bed. He gets the feeling that it’s a rhetorical question, that Yeosang doesn’t actually want him to answer, so he shifts slowly back into a reclining position against his bedsheets, waiting for him to finish.</p><p>“Or this big this fast, I guess. I always thought – I dunno; I <em>wanted</em>, we wanted, everyone in the fucking industry <em>wants</em>. And it’s fine, it’s great, but I sometimes think –”</p><p>He makes a small, frustrated noise, the words aborting in the back of his throat, and Mingi hums lightly, just to let him know he’s still listening.</p><p>“I dunno. Maybe you’re right; maybe I have got some fucking… <em>complex</em>, or whatever,” he says, parroting Mingi’s words back to him. “But I just… don’t feel.” He coughs. “Don’t feel enough, sometimes. Like – shit, <em>am</em> I good enough, Mingi? Like, really?”</p><p>Mingi bolts up, lightning-fast, the air around him suddenly thick and cloying and unpleasant. “Dude. <em>Yeosang</em> – fuck.”</p><p>“Eloquent,” Yeosang murmurs, but his voice trembles with something soft and wet.</p><p>“No – don’t even. Don’t even! You’re, like, incredible at this. Scary good. If I looked up ‘idol’ in the dictionary I’d see you doing fucking aegyo poses back at me, or something, so don’t – <em>don’t</em>.”</p><p>Yeosang sniffs, and Mingi really hopes he’s not crying. “Yeah. Yeah, you too, bro.”</p><p>“As long as you know,” Mingi says quietly, and he means it, really means it, wants to pick Yeosang up by the shoulders and shake him ‘til he gets it too. <em>YOU ARE AMAZING</em>, he wants to shout down the line, except that it would shatter the mood of delicate emotional vulnerability he’s worked so hard to cultivate.</p><p>“It’s just hard, dude,” Yeosang says, and his voice sounds a little clearer now, a little steadier. “All of it. It just gets so – fuck, I’m gonna sound so emo, but it gets lonely, sometimes, y’know?”</p><p>“Yeah, I know,” Mingi laughs, stretching his toes until they begin to cramp. “Living and working with your seven best friends, so lonely.”</p><p>“Fuck you, that’s not what I mean,” he says, and Mingi knows. God, does he know. It’s kind of cruel, when he takes the time to think about it – they’re shit-hot, young and sexy and famous, looking the best they probably ever will, and they’re not even allowed to use it to get laid. There’s something tragic about it, almost Shakespearean.</p><p>“You need to get some, Yeosang,” he says, voice warbling suggestively. “Take the edge off.”</p><p>“<em>Get some</em>, ugh. You’re so gross,” Yeosang growls back, which makes Mingi grin rakishly.</p><p>“No, seriously, it would help; you never know how much you’re missing it until – well. I’m sure someone could hook you up. Or you could go cruising after hours on a music show, I hear Inkigayo’s a glorified –”</p><p>“Thank you, Mingi, very helpful!” Yeosang says around what sounds like gritted teeth, his breath coming a little distorted down the line.</p><p>“Aw, Yeosangie,” he drawls, grinning at the way Yeosang scoffs. “Don’t sound like such a virgin. It’s not a big deal.”</p><p>“Whatever,” he mutters acidly, then, “do you – do you…”</p><p>“What? Do I <em>have sex</em>?” Mingi stage-whispers, biting back a laugh. “Why, you want her number?”</p><p>“Fuck – <em>no</em>,” he cuts back, firm enough that Mingi doesn’t press him on it. “Just – I was wondering…” Mingi waits, but he doesn’t elaborate. “Ugh, forget it. Doesn’t matter.”</p><p>“No, go on,” he says, because he’s enjoying Yeosang’s little prude act. It’s cute.</p><p>“Just – I guess it’s easy for you, in a single. For stuff like… that.”</p><p>“Hm, not necessarily. I don’t fuck in the dorms if that’s what you mean; way too risky. Makes it easier to jerk off, though,” he laughs, wondering how the conversation had switched tones so quickly. Yeosang hums, the sound quiet and pensive.</p><p>“And nobody hears? It’s… private?”</p><p>“Private enough,” Mingi shrugs. “Why, you wanna use it? I could come back late one night, give you the keys.”</p><p>“No, it’s not – I want…”</p><p>“What?” Mingi hums, half-joking. He’s happy just to listen, glad that Yeosang trusts him enough to talk about stuff he clearly finds so awkward. “How am I supposed to help, dude?”</p><p>“<em>You</em> could… help. If you wanted to,” he says, voice suddenly very small. Mingi stills, blinks hard, stares at the caller ID on his phone. He’s not sure what Yeosang’s trying to say.</p><p>“Like, as in…”</p><p>“As in, de-stress. Unwind,” Yeosang continues, parroting Mingi’s words back to him, his voice a thin, high tremor of uncertainty.</p><p>“What, you want a massage or something?” Mingi asks. He’s pretty sure what Yeosang wants, but he asks. Just to give him an out.</p><p>“I want you to – get me off.”</p><p>Silence. Mingi actually removes his phone from his ear, stares down at it like he can’t believe what Yeosang’s saying. He could refuse, right? Things might be a bit harder as idols but they’re still allowed to watch porn if they keep it private and legal; Mingi’s sure they all do it now and again, Yeosang included. He shifts, rubbing his knees together contemplatively. He <em>should</em> refuse; getting involved with your own band-mates is only ever a bad idea. Don’t shit where you eat, and all.</p><p>“Didn’t know you swung that way, dude,” Mingi says, instead of turning him down and hanging up. He’s not sure why.</p><p>“I don’t. Probably,” Yeosang replies, too quickly. He sounds relieved, though it could be at a multitude of things: Mingi hasn’t ended the call yet, Mingi hasn’t metaphorically laughed in his face, Mingi hasn’t cursed him out for (maybe) being into guys. “Just as a favour, as friends. I don’t know anyone else who would do – that. Y’know. And I’m just really – lonely.”</p><p>Horny, Mingi thinks, but doesn’t comment. “Completely platonic?” he presses, after a moment of pause, and Yeosang hums back. Well.</p><p>“Ok,” he says. The line goes quiet, crackling softly with static.</p><p>“You – yeah? Ok?” Yeosang sounds disbelieving, as disbelieving as Mingi himself feels. It’s not exactly what he’d expected when he’d rung up Yeosang an hour before, but the idea isn’t completely repulsive to him. He’s sure guys do it all the time, help each other get off; it could be cathartic. And he <em>had</em> offered to help Yeosang unwind.</p><p>“Yeah, sure. As a bro thing,” he clarifies. “Just helping a friend out, right?”</p><p>“Right,” Yeosang echoes quietly. Ironically, now that they’ve agreed the hard part, Yeosang goes shy; Mingi’s left listening to his breath, staccato-soft over the line, and wonders what the fuck he’s supposed to do now.</p><p>“You wanna get started, then?” he asks when the silence stretches on. It’s just past midnight; they can’t fuck around on call forever, they’ve got practice tomorrow.</p><p>“Ok,” Yeosang replies, reticent and bashful now that Mingi’s up for it.  </p><p>“Is there… I dunno, anything you want me to do? Anything you’re into?” If this is to help Yeosang relax, Mingi figures he might as well get to be in charge.</p><p>“Um…” Yeosang idles for a moment. “Can you just – don’t laugh, but can you just… praise me, a bit. Y’know, tell me I’m doing a good job. Or whatever.”</p><p>Mingi frowns. Like a dog? Good boy, Yeosang; sit, fetch, paw. Not his idea of sexy, but –</p><p>“Shut up,” Yeosang breathes down the line, sounding faintly embarrassed. “I can hear you thinking. Just – it’s fine, don’t worry, forget I asked.”</p><p>“No, it’s cool, I don’t mind,” Mingi says, because there are way weirder things people could be into and anyway, this is for Yeosang. Whatever’s gonna help him de-stress. “Um, do you want to start, or…”</p><p>“Sure,” Yeosang replies after a moment, clearly too invested now to play this off as some kind of joke. “Are you… are you hard?”</p><p>Mingi adjusts his position on the bed, shifting down further onto the sheets and tipping his legs open for a better view of himself. He’s not fully hard, not yet, but can already feel the warm, familiar coil of arousal pooling in his abdomen, twisting just behind his navel. He reaches a hand down to rub speculatively against his clothed cock, toes curling at the sparks of pleasure which shoot off at the action. Maybe with some encouragement.</p><p>“Got a semi. You?”</p><p>He hears Yeosang laugh, full and throaty. “I’m fucking – I’m wired, Mingi, to be honest.”</p><p>Right. Mingi clears his throat, nudging his phone so it rests in the divot between his shoulder and jawbone, leaving both hands free. He’s never done this before, shivering faintly with embarrassment if he lingers too long on the thought of whispering filth down the phone like some rented call-girl, but he’s already half-hard and promising to talk dirty to his band-mate as a purely platonic bro-favour, so fuck it, he thinks. Besides, Mingi’s never been one to back down from a challenge.</p><p>“Are you touching yourself?” he asks Yeosang, cringing at how it sounds straight out of a shitty 80s porn flick, but he hears a shaky sigh through his phone speakers that he takes as confirmation so it couldn’t have been that bad. Mingi breathes in hard, letting his fingers dip beneath the waistband of his own boxers as he psyches himself up. Might as well. “Good. Keep – keep doing that.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Yeosang breathes, the intonation softly probing. “And?”</p><p>“And – go slow. Can you do that for me?” Mingi says, licking a long line of spit up the length of his palm before reaching down to fuck lazily into his own fist. Yeosang’s exhales come shaky and uneven down the line, the moment stretching out between them before he answers.</p><p>“Yeah, I can. Match me, Mingi.” His voice is pitched significantly lower, smooth as water through the receiver. It makes something in Mingi’s stomach lurch dangerously, makes him want to grip the sheets and speed up.</p><p>“What are you thinking about?” he asks, wanting Yeosang’s own fantasies to take the lead.</p><p>“You,” he replies quickly. “I’m thinking about you.”</p><p>Mingi’s breath stutters, catching in his throat. So much for platonic. “And?”</p><p>“And – and your dick.” Yeosang voice trembles with the effort of the sentence. “God, Mingi, I – I’ve always wanted you to fuck me. Bet you’re big.”</p><p>Jesus Christ. Mingi shivers, thumbing impulsively over his head at Yeosang’s words, knees trembling with the effort to keep his thighs spread open. His stomach roils with an unexpected yet sharply urgent desire, mind growing hazy, and he wills himself not to lose his nerve now; they’d both just end up feeling stupid.</p><p>“Yeah? Would you like that?” Mingi manages, one hand keeping a now torturously slow pace on his aching cock, the other rubbing lazy, absent circles into his nipples.</p><p>“God – yeah, yes. You’re so big, so tall,” Yeosang says, breath coming in ragged pants through the speakers. “Got such big hands. Want you to fuck me with those hands.”</p><p>Mingi bites back a groan, lets those big hands of his fist desperately up the length of his cock, growing slick and wet against the fabric of his boxers. Who knew shy little Yeosang was this dirty? He feels warm and flushed all over, body responding to the mental images of Yeosang bending over for him, eager and pliant, riding his fingers, riding his dick –</p><p>“Mingi-ah; Mingi. Talk to me.”</p><p>This doesn’t feel very heterosexual. Mingi rolls his hips, heels digging into his bedsheets, and decides that he doesn’t fucking care.</p><p>“Are you close?” he asks, breathless, the words coming out in a single, jumbled exhale. He twists his wrist as he jerks low and tight around the base of his cock, hand slippery with pre-cum, and thinks that he might be too, that it would be pretty embarrassing to shoot off after five minutes of dirty talk with one of his best friends. Yeosang’s reply is punctuated with the sound of shudders and gasps, soft and needy.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, voice feather-soft. “I’m close, Mingi-ah; so close.”</p><p>“Good boy,” Mingi says, and Yeosang moans at the words, loud and pornographic. The muscles in Mingi’s thighs jump treacherously and he thinks for a moment that he may come from that alone, from the sound of Yeosang moaning like a slut down the phone. He speeds up, rutting wantonly against the pressure of his own hand, hips jerking upwards on instinct. Fuck going slow. “Bet you look so pretty right now, Yeosangie,” he says, talking rubbish, saying anything that will make Yeosang react like that again. “So gorgeous, touching yourself for me, such a good boy.”</p><p>“For you,” he moans, completely lost in himself. “For you, Mingi-ah.”</p><p>“You gonna come for me? Gonna be a good boy and come for me, Yeosangie?” Mingi pants, desperate, hopeful, and listens to the sound of Yeosang fall apart over the phone, moans muffled as he bites into his own hand, breathing as hard as if they’d just spent an hour on stage. That’s what does it for Mingi, the image of Yeosang flushed and twitching and spent branded bright and bold into his imagination, chest heaving and cheeks stained red, as he spills helplessly into his palm with a sharp, stuttering thrust of his hips. He lies back for a moment, motionless and unspeaking, letting his phone fall against the pillow as he blinks away the spots in his vision.</p><p>Yeosang is the first to break the silence, sounding hoarse and slightly breathless.</p><p>“You ok?” he asks, a little uncertain. Mingi sighs and rubs the heel of his palm against his forehead.</p><p>“Yeah. You?”</p><p>Yeosang hums, reverting effortlessly back to the casual register of their friendship, but there’s something small and satisfied in the sound that Mingi hasn’t heard before. “Yeah. Thanks, Mingi, I needed that.”</p><p>Mingi curls in on himself, cringing at the damp mess between his legs and making a note to shower before he knocks out for the night. He feels dazed, as if he’s just woken up from a strange yet vaguely erotic dream – weird, unfamiliar, yet not entirely unpleasant. He thinks of the warm, post-orgasmic buzz of endorphins washing slowly over him, of the desperate, eager way his body had responded to Yeosang, and decides that he doesn’t mind it at all. Decides that he might phone Yeosang more often, might make a habit of it. Anything to help a friend in need.</p><p>“No problem, dude,” Mingi replies, yawning into his clean hand, too tired to think about the implications of what they’ve just done; if there <em>are</em> implications at all. They had fun, Mingi helped Yeosang, Yeosang helped Mingi. They could figure out the rest later. “Any time.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>they’re so fun to write omg! hope u enjoy this rubbish as much as i did writing it &lt;3 </p><p>talk to me on tumblr @januaryelegy</p></blockquote></div></div>
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